Upside Down
by Queen of the Red Skittle
Summary: An incident sends John to a universe where the Ancients never lost the War. Returning home might be easier said than done.
1. i

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for my OCs.

 **A.N:** Story takes place several years beyond season 5.

 **A.N#2:** Written to _The Last of the Mohicans_ soundtrack by Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman and Ramin Djawadi's _Game of Thrones Season Seven OST_.

.

"There must be some kind of way outta here  
Said the joker to the thief  
There's too much confusion  
I can't get no relief."  
—Bob Dylan, _All Along the Watchtower_

.

 _._

Upside Down

.

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard squinted up at PR9-939's sun and wondered if it was too late in the afternoon for coffee.

For the third time in as many minutes he glanced at where Rodney McKay crouched by a sandblasted pillar. As far as Ancient archaeological surveys went, John stuck it between Really Boring and Anything But This. It seemed nothing but a stone graveyard, but Rodney and the other scientists combed over the bleached skeleton of the city as if it were something precious, each lugging an arsenal of tablets and sampling equipment.

Sweat rolled down John's neck as he continued to patrol, hands easy but ready on his P90. Of all the days to pick the short straw and get stuck on scientist-babysitting duty. As John walked he half-hoped to see a Wraith raiding party, if only to alleviate the boredom. He knew he was hoping for too much: ever since the war with the Wraith ended four years ago, the closest form of action he saw were border disputes. And if anything Guide said was true, even that was nearing its end.

 _Guide._ Or Todd, before relations stabilized into the alliance it was today. The I'll-kill-you-but-not-really was almost an hello between them at this point. John pushed aside the memory of the Wraith feeding on him, rubbing his chest before he caught himself. How many years had it been? Five? Six? _Time flies when you're having fun,_ he thought, the expression on his face more teeth than smile. Sometimes he wondered if he would've preferred having a physical scar from the encounter rather than just a memory. At least then the wound would've been easy to quantify.

John was still thinking about the Wraith when he looked up the exact moment the sun winked, everything a miniscule brighter. The man shook his head, wondering if his boredom was taking its toll. None of the scientists paused their research.

"Rodney," John said.

No answer.

"Rodney!"

"What!"

John gestured upward. "Did you see that?"

Rodney straightened with a visible sigh, lowering his tablet. "See what."

Even as the words left of his mouth John felt foolish. "It got bright for a second. Didn't you notice?"

Rodney was already huffing. "No, I didn't notice. Can't you go bother someone else? Just, just go over there."

"The sun. I think I saw it flare."

"Oh, no, no. A person couldn't see that with the naked eye. And besides, that shouldn't happen for another—" The man reopened his tablet and glanced at it. His brow furrowed. "Huh."

"'Huh'?" John stepped closer. "What do you mean, 'huh'?"

"I'm reading a massive CME from the sun three hours ahead of schedule." Rodney lifted his head. "Zelenka!"

The small man appeared as if summoned, floppy hat drooping about his ears, shirt dark with sweat patches. McKay showed the tablet to him. John watched the two men huddle together for a moment before they looked at each other.

"Colonel, we should go," Zelenka said. "A coronal mass ejection of that size is bound to create a geomagnetic storm, and soon."

"It's so ahead of schedule," Rodney said, voice rising. He took the tablet out of Zelenka's hands and scowled at it. "It makes no sense. My calculations were perfect."

"How long would it last?" John asked, ignoring the urge to quip something witty.

"Hours," Rodney said, just as Zelenka shrugged, "Days?"

The two scientists eyed each other.

The prospect of being stranded on the hot, desolate plain made the decision easy. John tried not to let his smile show when he said, "Alright, recall the team. We're leaving and we're leaving now."

"But—"

"Now, Rodney," John said. "I'm sure the ruins will still be here when we get back."

"But the equipment?" Rodney asked, glancing at several large metal containers.

"Grab what you can carry. I'd rather not mess with flares."

"Ahum, technically CMEs aren't flares," Zelenka said, "but massive bubbles of magnetized gas that accompany—"

"Less explaining, more moving," John said.

Within ten minutes everyone was walking to the Stargate, dust kicking around their legs. John found himself humming as he imagined the romantic supper he would soon have with Teyla. Maybe he would cook her a homemade pizza. Her boy Torren loved the stuff. John expected nothing less: pizza was amazing no matter the galaxy. He glanced up, squinting against the haze. A corona of orange had collected around the sun and he urged the team to pick up the pace, he himself jogging the half mile to reach the Stargate first.

By the time John reached the portal he was sporting a good sweat and feeling his right knee, but it was a clean feeling. Could use more of it, if he was being honest with himself. The occasional spar with Teyla and Ronon kept him on his toes, but John knew the years of peace were slowly taking a toll. The Wraith stayed on their half of the Pegasus, Atlantis safeguarded the other half. Simple. And now with the retrovirus allowing humans to survive the Wraith feeding process, Teyla reported human populations already growing. The wounds were healing.

He was finishing dialing when Rodney pulled up besides him, clutching his knees and panting.

"Thanks for the double time, Sheppard," Rodney said. The look he gave John could've curled wallpaper off a wall.

"Anytime," John replied, smiling.

Rodney was still muttering under his breath when he slipped through the activated Stargate. Dr. Zelenka and the others soon followed, each wiping dust from their eyes. John waited until the last scientist passed through the event horizon before slipping into the gleaming blue. A _slurrp-_ stomach-drop later he reached the other side.

John was still wondering if Teyla was in the mood for wine or beer when he realized something wasn't right. At all. Because instead of standing in the Gate room of Atlantis he was still on PR9-939. He whirled around. The desolate wasteland was gone, a gleaming, wholesome city towering where ruins stood moments before. Puddle Jumpers glided lazily about the spires.

John's mouth went slack.

"Oh, goddammit it."

.

.s.

.

John groaned aloud. Time travel? Hadn't he suffered enough of the damn thing? The memory of when he'd gone almost fifty thousand years into the future flashed in his mind before he forced the panic back. Or when he, Ronon, Teyla, and Rodney had been stuck on that reality-jumping Daedalus. _C'mon, John. Think. This isn't your first rodeo._ At least he knew to blame that CME, or solar burp, or whatever the hell wrong with the sun. He was damn sure of it. Had Rodney and the others been flung backwards or forwards in time too? John turned in place but found no one with him. His throat tightened a little. He hoped wherever they were they were okay and safe. He squinted upwards. The same orange corona surrounded the sun.

He clicked his radio. "This is Sheppard, anyone read? I repeat, this is Sheppard. Anyone on this channel?" John listened for half a second to dead air before abandoning his comm. Unless there was another holographic Rodney McKay here to greet him, he knew he was on his own.

First things first. He needed to get to an astrological station to tell _when_ he was and how he could get back to his proper time. Maybe he would have to be frozen for another seven hundred years. Or maybe the Ancients could zip him back, no sweat. John perked up. _There's always a solution to every problem,_ he thought as he began to trek towards the city. Despite his predicament he began to smile, already imagining Rodney's jealousy when he returned to Atlantis. Maybe this was a good thing, the shakeup he'd been waiting for. Adventure. Danger. There was only so much peace a soldier without a war could handle.

He walked the stone-cut road without hurry, thinking his options. He left his weapons stashed under a small formation of rocks off the path, carefully covering them up. It hurt his heart a little to leave his Colt behind. _I'll come back for you, I promise._ He kept his knife holstered to his ankle. The less aggressive he seemed the better, but that didn't mean he had to be defenseless.

The tall grass bent in the cool breeze, swaying like women at a dance. Trees cast welcome shade as John neared the city's outer limits, sunshine dappling the road. The massive structure resembled Atlantis enough to make his heart twinge. If he squinted, he could pretend he was walking home. To Teyla. To Rodney and Ronon and Jennifer, to all the others.

John rounded a bend in the road and saw people through a gap between the trees. They were in a nearby field, dressed in drab uniforms and moving in rows, like farmers. John slowed. Ancients? Humans? He thought it strange all of them had white hair, until he realized they were Wraith.

John abandoned the open road to duck behind some bushes, heart quickening in a way it hadn't for nearly five years. Wraith? Here, so close to an Ancient city? He watched from where he hid, suddenly regretting leaving his P90 behind. Should he warn someone? The ten Wraith didn't seem to care they were visible, remaining in the open despite ample opportunity to hide. Were they searching for something? John was going to move away when he noticed one Wraith in particular. He'd recognize the unkempt hair and starburst tattoo anywhere.

John must've made a noise because the Wraith closest to his location stopped what he was doing and straightened, staring where the man hid with unerring precision. The others stopped too until they were all staring at him, Guide included. _Well, no use delaying the party._ John stood up and moved away from the bushes, giving his best disarming smile. It was odd seeing Guide dressed so similarly to the army fatigues he was subjected to when he was a prisoner of Atlantis. John found himself grinning. Despite traveling back in time it looked like Guide hadn't de-aged a day. Had the Wraith always been old?

John tried to ignore the tension in the air and raised a hand. "How's everyone doing?"

None of the Wraith moved.

"Tough crowd." This was fast becoming the surrealist day of John's life. The Wraith of the future would've tried flanking him by now. He turned his attention to the familiar face. "So, Guide? What's with the getup?"

The Wraith startled as if he'd stepped on a live wire, expression contorting from shock to fury before hardening into something in between.

"How did you come by that name?" Guide hissed.

John hadn't heard that tone since they were both Kolya's prisoners. He resisted the urge to face palm. _Good one, John._ "I'm an amazing guesser."

The group of Wraith moved closer, noticeable hunger in the way they sized him boots to head. John tensed, fingers twitching for the P90 that wasn't there. Even though the retrovirus would save him from dying, being fed on hurt like a bitch. His gaze dipped. Guide wore a black fingerless glove on his feeding hand. It was clenched in a tight fist.

"Hey!" a voice said. "Get back to work, all of you."

John turned. Two Ancients were walking towards them, grasses parting around their thighs. They were dressed in crème uniforms, both toting weapons on their hips. John couldn't believe how the Wraith obeyed, leaving him alone to return to their task. Even Guide turned away, leaving John shocked. The Guide he knew killed the Primary to gain control of the alliance, which, as Teyla informed him, was the most perverse and steel-balled thing a male Wraith could accomplish. How could these Ancients control him, of all people?

"And you," the Ancient said to John with a frown. His face was pockmarked and hair shorn gray. His voice was the sound of gravel. "Civilians aren't allowed in this zone."

"I'm figuring that," John said. He was bursting with questions. All he could manage was a disarming smile.

The other Ancient was now thumbing his weapon with a narrowed expression. He was younger than John and vaguely handsome. "Let's see your identification."

"Okay, okay, you got me," John said, raising his hands. No point in lying. "This is going to sound weird, but . . . I'm from the future."

"The future?" the first Ancient said.

"Yeah, y'know, forward in time?"

The two Ancients exchanged a look.

"Did you come through the Stargate?" the Ancient asked again.

"Yeah. Now I'm hoping to get back to my own time. So, if you wouldn't mind pointing me in the right direction, I'd greatly appreciate that."

"Of course," the second Ancient said, but not before exchanging a look with his counterpart John couldn't interpret. He took his hand away from his weapon. "We'll bring you to Oros, the High Councilor of Timaeus. He might be of assistance."

 _Timaeus?_ John perked. Timaeus was one of the sister cities of Atlantis, before the War. So that's why Rodney was so excited about the find. _I should've paid more attention to the mission report_ , he thought. At the corner of his eye John saw the Wraith were ignoring the exchange, appearing to pick rocks among the grasses and putting them in strange cylindrical containers. Only Guide kept glancing towards him with an unreadable, catlike gaze.

"Thanks," John said, still wondering why neither Ancients were worried they were standing by nearly a dozen Wraith. And why the Wraith were letting them.

"You go. I'll call for a replacement," the younger Ancient said to his companion.

"Follow me," the first Ancient said to John. "It isn't too far of a walk."

John followed after him, returning to the road. John couldn't help but take one last look at the bizarre scene of Ancients patrolling Wraith. This past was different from what Teyla remembered from her Wraithkin memories. Very different.

"I'm Lorric, Fourth Overseer. My partner was Calmin, Sixth Overseer."

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. Nice to meet you," John said.

Lorric didn't respond beyond a nod, which suited John fine. He used the silence to mull over his situation and the strangeness of it all. The fields of grass and trees gave way to more industrialization as they reached the city limits. They passed several more working Wraith as they did, each dressed in the same gray uniform and wore the black glove over their feeding hands. The road widened. It was becoming a smooth metal walkway when John saw a large translucent cage off to the side. Nobody could walk by without seeing it.

A Wraith huddled inside, unmoving.

John slowed. _What's with this place?_ he thought.

"What'd he do?" he asked, nudging his chin towards the cage's direction.

"Killed an Overseer and tried to escape." Lorric kept his eyes forward. His voice was bland, like a mask painted white. "They caught it. Now they've left it in a constant state of starvation as a warning to the others. Which," he added in a low voice, "if I believe what I'm told, resembles being burned alive."

John shifted in place, unable to help but remember Steve, the Wraith they had starved to gain information in the early days of their Atlantis occupation. He cased another surreptitious glance at the cage. He was now close enough to see the Wraith held himself in a ball, arms hugged tight around his middle, knees pulled up to hide his face.

"A good punishment for them, eh?" a new voice said.

Both John and Lorric turned. Lorric's partner jogged up to them with an upraised hand.

"Calmin," Lorric said. His expression didn't change. John tried to smile but found it was hard to take his eyes off the Wraith. The creature appeared worse than Guide had in Kolya's prison.

"Starvation is one of the few things that keep them in line," Calmin said. He walked abreast with them, blinking in the sun. "But I heard the top might kill it soon. It's not much of a show anymore."

"A bit cruel, don't you think?" John said.

Calmin looked at him. "Tell that to the Overseer the thing killed."

John didn't reply, and neither Ancient said anything else. For an Ancient city, there were far more Wraith around than John would've imagined. How much could he care? This was the past. What did his actions matter? John shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. _Keep a low profile, John. You're here to get out. Don't get involved._

The sun's heat cooled as they entered the shadow of a large grated wall. It reminded John of the forcefield of Atlantis' cells, and if he leaned in, he could hear the low hum of power. The guard at the entrance nodded at both Overseers and gave John a professional glance-over, but didn't stop them as they trudge through.

Their boots tramped on the smooth, polished floor as they climbed into the acropolis. Ancients passed by them without notice, each busy with a tablet or other business. Low conversation hugged the walls as several sat in the shaded areas similar to Atlantis' mess hall. John tried not to appear like a scout as he followed Lorric and Calmin along the corridors, cataloging the differences and similarities as casually as he could. Timaeus could've passed as Atlantis . . . almost. John would've missed it had he'd not lived in Atlantis as long as he did. There was a hush in the air, a stillness hard to pin down. It quieted conversations and dimmed the lights in the hallway. It smelled different too, as if there were more electricity in the air, or ozone. _As if entering the belly of a great machine_ , a small voice said. His homesickness disappeared like smoke from an extinguished candle.

This place wasn't Atlantis.

John understood that fully when they left the meandering hallways to enter a bright, well-lit room. In the centre stood an Ancient. He held himself tall, the lines of him crisp and clean. He smiled when he saw John and strode forward.

"You must be our visitor from far away lands," the Ancient said. "I am Oros, High Councilor of Timaeus."

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard."

"A pleasure." Oros smiled again. His gaze flicked at the others. "Overseers. Do you mind waiting outside? My guest and I will be fine."

"Yes, High Councilor," Calmin said. They both bowed and left.

When the door hissed closed Oros clapped his hands. "So! It seems you're a bit of a bind, Colonel Sheppard. Please, have a seat and tell me the events that led up to this unfortunate accident. The more details, the better."

John's legs thanked him when he finally sat down, his knee especially. He resisted the urge to rub it. He told the Ancient the highlights, glossing over the more personal details to deliver a dry, almost textbook op report. When he finished the High Councilor leaned his hip against his desk, rubbing a forefinger over his lips.

"The sun had an orange halo around it, you say?" the High Councilor asked.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Quite a curious tale you've woven for me, Colonel Sheppard." The Ancient snapped his fingers and stood. "Ah, but first where are my manners? Care for any food? Drink?"

"Uh, water, please."

The Ancient walked over to the cabinet by the rear wall. "Calmin told me you seemed curious about the Wraith here. Do you have them in your future?" Oros asked, back turned. There was the gurgle of liquid being poured.

John shifted in his seat. "You could say that."

Oros hummed. "It's a difficult problem, but we do our best to control them."

"Aren't you afraid they're going to rise up? Go to war, or something?"

"War?" The Ancient turned to study him, frowning. "They already tried," he said. "They lost."

John blinked. Something in his gut quelled. It was one thing to be in his own timeline, but a completely different one? _I'm in a goddamn alternate reality,_ he thought. Rodney's voice floated in his ear: _Traveling from one reality from another takes massive amounts of energy. ZPM level energy._

"I've surprised you."

John shook his head, jolted out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, uh, my face always looks surprised. Of course they lost the War."

Oros handed John a glass of water. After an initial hesitation, the man took it. The moment his fingers touched the cool glass surface it lit up like a beacon, the water inside turning white.

The Ancient smiled at John again, slow and long and indulgent. His teeth were very white. "Forgive me, but I am quite curious myself. Despite your human nature, it seems you naturally express our genetic ability to control our technology."

"Seems so," John said evenly.

Oros laughed. It was a delighted sound. John found it incongruous with the Wraith dying in the cage outside the city.

"Apologies, Colonel. I couldn't believe the scan results when I saw them. I simply had to discover if they were true."

John squinted at him. "You knew I wasn't from the future all along, didn't you." He didn't drink the water.

Oros leaned his hip again on the desk. "No, Colonel, we knew you weren't from our future. I will admit, it's been quite an age since we've traveled to your reality, but never has the inverse happened. You're something of a curio."

The hairs on John's neck rose. He put the water down and stood up. "Look, Councilor, all I want is to get back to my time."

"And you will . . . after you help us answer a few of our questions," the High Councilor said, his smiling fading into something else.

"Like what kind of questions?"

"Like these." Oros pressed a button on his desk. A glowing blue screen appeared above the desk, the interface filled with chemistry formulas. "You were scanned the moment you entered the city. We picked up a subcutaneous transmitter, but that isn't the reason we're interested. It's this." He pointed to a particular cluster of lines.

"What am I looking at?" John asked, but knew even before the Ancient responded.

"An unfamiliar Wraith enzyme in your blood."

 _The retrovirus._

"What does it matter?" John said, crossing his arms.

"It matters," the High Councilor said, "because it means the situation in your reality may have more potential than we originally thought."

 _What?_

"The question of why a human carries our genetic marker is another question, but that can be a conversation for a later time. Now, Colonel Sheppard, if you'd be so kind, please follow my Overseers for additional testing."

The door hissed opened. Lorric and Calmin walked in, along with three other creme-uniformed Overseers. Each carried a weapon. A woman Ancient in a white uniform followed them. She held a tablet in her hand. The look she gave him reminded John of the time he saw Rodney encounter a particularly fascinating astrophysical equation.

"You know what? I think I'll pass," John said.

The woman exchanged looks with Lorric. "It would be very helpful to us if you cooperate," she said. Her hair was the colour of fire. "Normally we wouldn't ask, but our scans indicated a modified enzyme we've never encountered before. It would greatly aid our research."

"I'd still have to say no."

"Please," the woman said. All five guards began to crowd John. "We insist."

John smiled. There was nothing friendly about the expression. "Oh, well, if you insist." His fingers twitched for the knife still holstered to his leg.

"I wouldn't think about it," the High Councilor said behind him. "Our scans picked that up too. Overseers, please relieve him of his weapon."

It set his teeth on edge but John accepted it, knowing he'd have a later chance to escape. A rough shove had him following the woman, the rest flanking him.

"You do this to all your guests?" he asked, glaring around him. Calmin didn't respond as if suddenly deaf. John thought he saw a flash of apology from Lorric, but it was too fast to be sure. Nothing more was said the long journey to what John assumed to be the medical wing of the city. He'd been to the med bay in Atlantis more times than he cared to admit, but this way was different than what he remembered. Glowing white lights along the walls gave the room a bright, sterilized feel. John balked. Several Wraith occupied the beds, each strapped down with black bands. They ignored the Ancients moving about them, no-looks on their faces as they stared into space. Various tubes ran from their arms, chests, and necks. John shivered. Would he become like them?

"Right here is fine," the woman said when they reached an unoccupied bed, nodding to the guards. Lorric and Calmin stayed close while the other three stepped back.

"I don't need to strip, do I?" John asked, if only to see her squirm.

"That won't be necessary," she replied. She didn't blush. "This will only take a moment."

John was forced to roll up a sleeve. The Ancient pressed a cylinder to his bare arm and after a momentary heat, took it away. She repeated the process three more times with three different cylinders, her movements quick and efficient. She never once made eye contact with John, too focused on the read-outs the cylinders spewed than him. John forced himself to take deep, calm breaths, willing himself elsewhere. _Just some hoops, then I'm out_.

Except the thought carried no weight, and when the woman signaled she was finished, John wasn't filled with hope. There was a coal in his belly as he the five Overseers led him away from the med bay and towards darker, unlit tunnels, an anger that made him think less of negotiating and more of getting the hell out of this situation. But where to start? Now that he knew he was in an alternate reality, it wasn't as simple as getting put in stasis for seven hundred years. He would need a massive amount of energy to send him back.

The green flickering lights replaced the bright white ones the further down they traveled. At some point John's ears popped. The tunnels opened into an underground barrack of glowing white cells. In each stood or sat a Wraith.

John looked at his escorts. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry," Calmin said. His smile was insincere. "There is no other place to put you."

"Putting me in a room full of hungry Wraith? Yeah, that's a damn fine idea."

"They won't be able to feed on you," Lorric said. Somewhere a Wraith hissed softly. "Those gloves prevent them to. It's set to explode at any unauthorized feeding."

"And if they snap my neck?"

"We'll find out in a few hours when we check the cells," Calmin said without change of tone.

John could feel the Wraith watching him as he passed their cells, the brightness of the forcefields giving each a washed-out, sickly appearance. Vents blew cool air kept the worst of the humidity away, but John could still feel a layer of dampness settle on his skin. Though the ceilings were high and the floors clean and utilitarian, the man was uncomfortably reminded of Kolya's prison. Damn the man. John wished he could shoot the Genii again.

The Ancients stopped in front of a row of empty cells.

"Food and drink will be brought to you later," Lorric said as John was ushered in.

"There's still something that doesn't sit right," John said. The cell activated and white light flooded the box. Electricity stung his nose. "When I told you I was from the future, you didn't seem all that surprised."

The Ancient's face was blank. "Oh?"

"Lorric, let's go," Calmin said, turning away so only Lorric could see his expression.

When the guards were gone John took stock of his ten by ten space. There was a pallet to sleep on and a small nook where he could relieve himself. He turned in place, hands on hips. He walked close enough to the forcefield to feel the buzz in his teeth. The rows of cells were interconnected, each sharing a wall between them. It was harder to see the farther Wraith in the overlapping forcefields, but he could still see their dark suggestions. The electric hum filled the air. He lay down on the pallet and stared up, his mind as blank as the gray ceiling above him.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before he heard the main door hiss open. More Wraith began filling the cells around them, dusty from their day outside. John recognized several of them as the ones he'd seen in the field.

The last Wraith to enter the cell adjacent to John was none other than Guide himself, gloved hand clenched.

…

 _TBC_


	2. ii

.

"Backward we traveled to reclaim the day  
Before we fell, like Icarus, undone;  
All we find are altars in decay  
And profane words scrawled black across the sun."  
―Sylvia Plath, "Doom of the Exiles," _The Collected Poems_

.

.

.s.

.

John could feel Guide glaring as he attempted to eat the green paste the Ancients gave him. It was slightly better than an MRE, but John was sure Rodney would've disagreed. _Though, maybe he's right,_ John thought. Cold beef ravioli began to look good as the flavorless paste stuck to the roof of his mouth.

A low growl behind John drew him from his thoughts.

"Look, I'm sorry I've offended you," John said. "I won't call you that anymore if that makes you feel better, okay?" He paused. "How bout Todd instead?"

The Wraith snarled. John grimaced and stole glance towards the main entrance, hoping someone would come.

"Explain how you came by my name."

John sighed. The green paste was proving inedible. He shoved it aside. "You told me."

"I assure you," Guide-not-Guide said, visibly struggling to control his temper, "I have never met you in my life, let alone told you my _name_."

Despite the buzzing energy field between them John didn't like how Guide seemed to loom over him. The glower was unblinking. As much as John enjoyed poking the metaphorical stick at the metaphorical lion, his survival instincts were reminding him he very much wanted to keep living.

"Look. I'm not from your reality, okay? I traveled here by accident. The other you—the one I know—told me his, uh, your name."

"What?"

"Yeah. This—" John waved a hand, "—is not where I'm from. Or supposed to be."

Guide snorted. "You expect me to believe this paltry explanation?"

"You want to try explaining it, then? I'm all ears," John said.

Guide shook his head and growled again, reminding John of a thwarted wolf. The Wraith began to pace, long hands clenching and unclenching. The man's mouth twitched. The Guide he knew didn't waste his energy on pointless movement. _Like Timaeus and Atlantis_ , he thought suddenly. Everything just seemed off _,_ like looking at everything through a tilted mirror. He decided he disliked alternate realities a lot more than simple time travel. What he wouldn't give to have a holographic Rodney right about now. Or the man himself.

"This is a new trick, a test," Guide muttered. He threw angry glances at John every so often.

"No trick. I'm as much as a prisoner as you."

The Wraith pulled up short and gave John a narrow side-eyed glare. The man resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Well, looks like both are paranoid bastards, no matter the reality._

John stepped as close to the glowing white wall as he dared, eyebrows tingling. "Then how else would you explain how I know your name? Your reaction tells me the Ancients don't know about your telepathic abilities, or if they do, can't access or interpret them." John looked over Guide's arm and jerked his chin towards the Wraith behind him. "If I was one of them, explain to me how I know that's Bonewhite?"

The Wraith in question jerked his head up from where he'd been staring at the floor, eyes wide. John looked over and pointed to the Wraith sitting across the room. "Or that that's Farseer? Or that that's—"

"Stop."

John saw Guide's ashen face and went quiet. When the Wraith went to sit down it was like watching an old oak tree fall. The last time John had seen such dejection was when they were back in Kolya's prison, when the weight of years of imprisonment had stolen all hope from the old Wraith. The same look shadowed Guide's face now, and in that moment every little whisper telling John _don't get involved, don't get involved_ slammed shut.

John mimicked Guide and sat down on the edge of his pallet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, if only to change the topic. Though he kept his voice quiet it felt too loud, too rude in the near-silent bunker. It felt like he was interrupting grief.

Guide stared at some distant point on the floor, expression hidden behind a tangled curtain of hair. "What does it matter to you?"

"If I was an Ancient from this City, not at all," John said. Something pinged inside him. Could the same trick could work twice? He leaned forward, heart picking up. "But if I was a human stranded in this reality and looking for allies to get the hell out, it would matter a great deal."

The grizzled Wraith looked at him, expression as unreadable as a sphinx's.

When Guide continued to say nothing, John pressed on. "I'm going to guess you've been here for a long time, which can only mean you must know the layout of this place, right? Enough to esc—"

"It would not matter." Guide stared back at the floor.

John pulled up short. "What?"

The Wraith growled. "Even if what you say is true and I even if I believed you, even if we physically escaped this wretched place, it would not matter."

Before John could ask _what the hell do you mean?_ the door to the barracks hissed open. Wraith shifted in their cells as five Ancients marched in, three holding stunners. Lorric was among them. They stopped in front of John's cell.

The man remained sitting as the energy field buzzed down.

"Colonel Sheppard. If you would follow us, please," one of the Ancients said.

John glanced around. None of the Wraith directly looked at them. Even Guide had turned away, ignoring the exchange.

"And if I say no?" John said.

There was a whine of a charged stunner. "We won't ask again."

For a moment John debated getting a few bruises, but instinct told him it wasn't yet to make a stand. He told himself this as he stood up, not wanting to acknowledge how much Guide's abrupt dissent had shaken him. He followed his guards out of the prison barrack and walked all the way up the long, dim tunnel. As he walked he tried to notice any escape hatches or other pull-aways, but the tunnel was smooth. It seemed the only out was through the very tunnel he was walking. He hid a wince, his military training shaking its head at the potential chokepoint.

John was led back into the same lab as before. The woman was waiting for him. This time he was stripped to the waist and was made to lie on one of the beds, the starchy sheets scratchy beneath him. The Wraith already strapped down continued to look blankly at the ceiling, ignoring the newest occupant. Black bands strapped John down and before he knew it there were tubes running from his chest, arms, and neck. _What the hell is this?_ he thought as a low-grade fire began to burn in his veins. Sweat ran down his face as the heat continued its subtle assault. The Ancient woman ignored his discomfort and kept focused on the screen.

"Why are you doing this?" John asked when she leaned close to fiddle with the needle in his neck, clenching his teeth halfway as the fire spiked. He rode out the pain.

"Because the knowledge we can gleam from you may help the generations to come," the woman said. Her voice was beautiful yet distant. It was a clinician's tone. "It may help us unlock the secret to Wraith longevity."

 _So they're still interested in that, huh?_ John thought when she left. He stared up at the ceiling. The Ancients' pursuit for eternal life was what started the race of Wraith in the first place. Only, instead of finding immortality for themselves, their human experiments became Wraith. And in that moment of truth, in that defining moment, the Ancients chose to wage war with the nascent species instead of claiming responsibility for their actions.

The Ancients' always seemed as if their minds outraced their hearts, John realized. He closed his eyes. Always performing experiments before understanding the morality, always playing god before ready to accept the consequences. But if he could somehow use that to his advantage, maybe he could find a way to get home. John scoured his mind. He needed a plan that could make this version of Guide trust him. He sighed. What he would've given to hear Teyla's measured advice.

 _I'm coming, Teyla,_ he thought.

John didn't know how long he stayed with the med bay. Time fell apart and lost meaning. The occasional sounds of a Wraith escorted from a bed punctuated the lulling hums and beeps of the machinery. John felt neither hunger nor the desire to relieve himself as he lay there, his body floating on constant discomfort. He almost didn't notice the bands releasing and the needles pulling out until Lorric was shaking his arm.

"You're done," the Ancient said.

"Thanks," John croaked, throat coated in sandpaper.

There were only three guards this time when he was escorted back. He hardly remembered any of it, and when he entered the prison barracks most of the Wraith were gone, their energy cages mute. None of it mattered. John collapsed on his cell's hard pallet and fell asleep.

.

.s.

.

John woke up to the gray ceiling and stared at it, feeling there was less of him than before. At least when Guide fed on him all those years ago it was eventually given back. There was a low rumble at the edge of his hearing. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear,_ John thought. He turned his head and found Guide studying him with his pale, slitted eyes, something akin to contemplation on that alien face. There was new dust on his shoes from outside.

"One of my men told me they were conducting experiments on you," the Wraith said.

"How did . . .?" John sat up and shivered. He hugged his arms tighter around himself, wishing he had a blanket. He wiped his hand across his forehead and found it was damp with cold sweat. "Oh, right. The telepathy thing."

"Well? What makes you so interesting to them?"

"Besides my winning personality?" John said.

"They said they were looking for something in your blood." Guide leaned in, ignoring the flippancy. His head tilted, alien gaze piercing. "They were treating you as they do us."

 _As a Wraith._

John looked up, as if searching for camera. The Wraith snorted. "They do not listen to us here."

Oh, right. Ancient arrogance was still strong here too, John realized. He still kept his voice low as he asked, "Then if I tell you, will you tell me why you guys won't try breaking out of here?"

The Wraith leaned away and hissed. "It would be pointless."

"Look, I realize you don't trust me, but what do you got to lose?"

"My life, or worse."

John couldn't help it. He chuckled.

The gloved hand furled and unfurled. "Something amusing?"

"Nothing. Just deja-vu. We had a situation like this once. Well, with the other you. My version of you. Er, besides the point. Look. You told me your name once—"

"Not _I_. My counterpart did. I have no idea of your trustworthiness."

"Are the experiments proof enough my story's true?" John lifted his shirt and sleeve to show the angry red circles where the Ancient woman pressed needles into him. When the Wraith was unmoved, John gave a growl of his own and said, "Then feed on me. Can't you guys tell if I'm telling the truth or not that way?"

The Wraith blinked. "That would take many years off your life. Perhaps even kill you."

John lowered his voice and moved so close to the energy field he thought he was going to singe his nose hairs. "Not quite. That thing the Ancients are looking for in my blood? It's a retrovirus. Even if you fed on me I wouldn't die."

The Wraith frowned and moved close. "Such a thing exists?"

"It does in my reality."

Guide paused and glanced down at the black glove. "I am hobbled. Even if I accepted your offer, my hand would explode if I ever attempted the process." He gave a full-body shudder, as if the very thought stole the warmth from his bones.

"Then I'll suggest it to the bigwigs and stage a demonstration. I'll choose you to do it. Then you can find out if you trust me so we can escape," John said.

The Wraith pulled back. "You have much faith in this retrovirus."

"Yup. I mean, you were the one who came up with it."

The Wraith blinked again. "I did?"

"Yeah. You and Jennifer—one of my teammates."

The grizzled Wraith frowned. "Jennifer. A human? I created this retrovirus . . . with a human?"

"Crazy, huh."

"Ludicrous. Wraith do not work with humans," Guide sneered, teeth flashing. "We feed on them."

"Yeah, well, in my version we do."

"I find that hard to believe."

John made a show of looking around the prison barracks. "Well, if this was all I knew too, I would be in your shoes. But in my reality, both our people came together and created it."

Guide gazed at him with a particular expression John had never seen before. The man stopped and noticed all the Wraith within earshot were looking at him.

John cleared his throat and turned back to Guide. "The retrovirus was designed to provide humans with an enzyme that reacts with your enzyme during the feeding process. At least, that's how it was explained to me. So no one really needs to die anymore."

"Symbiosis," the Wraith muttered.

John's mouth twitched. "Symbiosis," he remember once saying to Guide, "is when two species benefit from each other. What do we get from you? It would be better for humanity if all the Wraith were dead."

Oh, how Guides' eyes had flashed. "And do you have the wherewithal to do that, John Sheppard? I think not."

"Not yet," Past-John had said.

"Is that what you want, then? Genocide? To utterly destroy a sentient species down to the last one? You are indeed the son of the Ancients, John Sheppard."

John winced, remembering how deeply those last words had cut. 'Son of the Ancients.' John had been called many things in his colourful career, but never a blood-soaked title quite like that one. _If only you can see me now,_ John thought to his Guide, wherever he has.

Though this plan could make this version of Guide trust him, it would be risky. He knew showing the Ancients the retrovirus in action could feed into their greed and result in an outcome more disastrous than the one he was in now. _Or maybe not._ John perked up. With his blood maybe they could reverse-engineer the retrovirus and help humans all over the Pegasus Galaxy. No one would have to die to feed the Ancients' mistakes. _And maybe it'll be my ticket through Oros out of here,_ he thought.

"Your story sounds more fairytale than truth," the Wraith said, drawing John back to the conversation at hand. The glow had faded from the pale eyes. Guide looked away. "All the same, escape would still not matter."

John wanted to pull his hair out and did his best to keep his voice level. "Why the hell not? Don't you want to leave this place? Don't you want to fight rather than waste away as slaves, or experiments, or whatever the hell you are?"

Guide held up his gloved hand. It seemed denser than it ought to be, remaining matte black despite the white glow of the energy fields. "I cannot feed without permission. No Wraith can. Only an Overseer may remove it with a code. Do you not understand? Starvation would be our only reward!" he snarled.

John had a distinct flashback of Guide years ago in Kolya's cell: _"I curse I was not allowed them all!"_

"Can't you kill an Overseer and take his code?" John asked, but the Wraith was already shaking his head and growling.

"It does not work that way," Guide said. "If it did, we would have killed all the Overseers long ago." Something in the alien face went dark, like a door closing over a fire. "Some have tried. All failed."

John nodded, thinking of the poor bastard rotting in the cage. "Then how? If it comes on, it has to come off."

Guide paused, staring at him as if trying to peer through to his soul. "If what you say is true and you are indeed stranded here outside your reality, what does any of this matter to you?" he asked, teeth bared.

John was suddenly weary of it all: of the continued paranoia, of the tests, of the seemingly hopeless Wraith. On top of it all, he still needed to find out how he could return home. John scrubbed his face with both hands and leaned against the cold wall. As he looked at the Wraith who was not his Guide but still _Guide,_ it hit him. _That's what changed everything, wasn't it? Realizing he was a person and not an it, that Wraith on a whole were a people and not some horrible disease to be wiped out._

How life was much simpler before. Shoot bad guy. Kill bad guy. End of story.

"The Guide I remember wasn't a quitter," John said, standing up. "Even with the odds stacked against him. Feed on me. You will see my story is true. Then we find out how to take those glove things off. Then . . ." _Then I go home,_ John thought. Something in his gut told him freeing this Guide was tied to finding a way back to his time. His jaw tightened. He only hoped he was right and not making a grave mistake.

 _You don't leave people behind._

Guide was quiet for a long moment, regarding him. He then turned to the Wraith behind him. Not a word passed between them, yet at one point the other Wraith shook his head with a growl. Guide seemed to press the other with a long, pointed stare. When the other Wraith dropped his gaze, Guide turned to John and said with a stretched leer that seemed all teeth,

"If this is a trick and you are indeed an agent of this wretched city, know I will rip your guts from your chest and stuff them down your throat, my fate be damned."

"And if I'm not?" John pressed.

"Then I shall make my decision then," the Wraith said, sinking back.

John nodded. It was the best he could hope for. _One step at a time,_ he thought, settling back on his own pallet.

.

.s.

.

John was already standing when the guards came for him.

"Tell that lady she can put away her needles," he said when they stood in front of his cell. "And tell Oros I want to talk. It's about what he's looking for."

Lorric pushed his way to the front and turned to one of the guards. "Inform the High Councilor," he said to her. He nodded to the other two. "Go check on cell 632-A. Overseer Talloc reported an insecure grid over there." When they hesitated, he nodded. "Go on. Be quick."

John watched as the last two guards pulled away, their boots _clump_ ing on the hard floor. "What—"

Lorric pushed himself close. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, voice pitched low.

John squinted at him. "You know something I don't?"

When the Ancient's pockmarked face tightened, John hissed, "If you do, then help me."

Lorric's mouth opened. Then he pulled away as the woman guard returned.

She eyed John briefly, then turned to Lorric. "The High Councilor says he'll see him," she said.

Lorric nodded. "Good."

They waited until the two other guards returned before leaving. Lorric didn't speak to John again as they left the prison barracks, keeping ahead of the escort. John stared at the back of the Ancient's head, wondering if he being an idiot and walking into a self-made trap. He wished Rodney was here to snap sense into him. He could picture the man now, whining and squawking but when backed to the wall somehow found the clever solution. He couldn't help but smile. Ronon would've suggested breaking out long ago. Probably would have already. The smile disappeared when John's thoughts turned to Teyla. The good cheer evaporated. The man hunched his shoulders against another internal chill and tried to ignore the sinking feeling the way home was slipping out of reach.

By the time John reached the bright, lighted room, he already wanted to put ten bullets in Oros' chest.

"Ah, Colonel Sheppard. I've been told you wanted to speak to me," the Ancient said. He wore a pale blue uniform, the cloth form-fitting and tossing highlights. He snapped the book he was reading closed and stood up. The woman scientist stood behind him, her hair like spun fire. John felt his upper lip curl. The entire scene felt staged. Lorric's strange words whispered again his ears but he pushed through them. This was his only chance to get Guide to trust him. And maybe get home.

"Let's just get right down to it," John said, leaving the escort to stand in front of the High Councilor. Oros waved the guards off as they tried to stop him. "You want to know what's in my blood? Fine. I'll show you. But then you tell me how the hell I get home."

Oros smiled. "You stand as if on a position to bargain from, Colonel Sheppard. If I wanted to, I could take all of your secrets by force."

John's grin was insincere. "You could try."

Oros laughter was soft and cultured. John found it hated it almost as much as he had hated Koyla's.

"Of course, that will not be necessary. We are all civilized here," the High Councilor said, slightly bowing. "I am not blind to the fact you wish to return to your time. I will agree to your terms, Colonel, but after you satisfy my questions. You have my word."

"Fine," John said. He knew when he was held by the balls. He straightened. "Then if you must know, it's a retrovirus."

"A retrovirus?" Oros turned to the woman, who nodded once.

"That falls in line with our preliminary research," she said. She looked at John. "How was this created?"

"We isolated the Wraith enzyme we needed to counteract the affects of the feeding process."

"Supremely curious," Oros said. His eyebrows rose. "You humans accomplished this feat?"

"Yup." John rocked on his heels. No need telling him the retrovirus was the fruit of human and Wraith efforts to save the Pegasus Galaxy.

"Why?"

John blinked. A sudden curl of anger struck him. "What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Why not kill the Wraith instead of making it easier to thrive?" the Ancient said, as if driving home an academic point. "Or better yet, subdue them as a slave force? Or learn from them—surely you humans must be curious in so much more than simply surviving?"

 _Son of the Ancients._ Guide's insult stung again. "We decided that route was best to end the war," John said with a tight smile. "And so far, it's been working."

"Mm." The Ancient's regard was at once piercing and unfocused. He stroked his upper lip with a long finger, as if deep in thought.

John cleared his throat. "And I would like to demonstrate it."

The stroking finger went still. "A demonstration?" he said. Though his expression was politely curious, his black of his eyes glittered.

"Here. Now," John said.

"And what do you need for this demonstration?" Oros asked.

"A Wraith." John added quickly, "The one next to me in the cells. Uh, the one with the tattoo on his face."

"Oh? And the reason for that being?"

John shrugged. "He looks like he'd be gentle?"

The High Councilor laughed. Lorric leaned in his ear and after a moment of whispers Oros nodded and regarded John again. "Ah, yes. Number 207. Model worker. I have no objections, if you don't," he said, turning to the woman.

"That is adequate," she said.

It took nearly half hour before Guide was led into the room. At the first beam of light the Wraith hissed quietly, eyes squinting shut. Then the expression smoothed and became a no-look. John watched the Wraith survey the room with the same unhurried, oddly menacing command his version often did. Maybe he'd been the only one to notice it because no Ancient reached for their weapon, no one called for reinforcement. Could they not see? _Blind no matter what the alternate reality,_ John thought.

Oros waved the Wraith forward. John had the unpleasant jolt of deja-vu and worked to ignore it. _Koyla's gone,_ he scolded himself. _This is completely different._ But as Guide loomed over him, feeding hand tented, he wasn't so sure.

"You may take your fill," Oros said to the Wraith.

The Wraith's eyes went wide. His pupils were thin in the sunlight. "My fill, sir?"

"Yes. Of course, we'll stop you if it appear this is nothing but a creative, albeit agonizing suicide attempt on Lt. Colonel Sheppard's part."

John watched as Lorric went over and, without any regard for personal safety, reached for Guide's feeding hand. The Wraith was stoic as he gave it to him, standing like a stone as the Ancient pressed several fingers against the black material. Only when Lorric stepped back did the Wraith clench his fist and breathe deeply. The pale eyes snapped to John.

 _Let's get this over with,_ the man thought with a grimace, opening his shirt so enough of his chest showed.

He barely had uncoupled the last button when Guide's hand slammed against him. Only the fierce grip kept John from falling backwards, but even then the man rocked on his heels. The Wraith fed with the finesse of an interrogator, ripping through memory and emotions with little regard. John bared it the best he could, grunting every so often when the terrible _pulling_ became too much. For one horrible, horrible second he thought the retrovirus wasn't strong enough, that it would give out, that he would die in this unfamiliar place and end up in little pieces on the Ancient woman's table and he would never see Rodney or Ronon or Teyla again—

The hand released. John pitched to his hands and knees, pain spiking as he hit the ground. He reflexively glanced down at his chest and saw the bleeding slit there. _At least you could've cleaned that up,_ he thought to Guide sourly. He didn't even try to stand, his legs like rubber left out in the sun. He rested on his knees instead, feeling he'd just run the breath of Atlantis. He looked up at the Wraith who gazed back at him with a tight, unreadable expression.

"Remarkable," Oros breathed.

John kept looking at Guide as he panted. "Now, we talk."

Guide's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, yes. But can it be done again?" Oros asked as the Wraith was led away.

"What?"

"What you just did. Can it be repeated?" the Ancient said. He looked at the woman.

John wiped sweat from his brow and frowned. He still didn't trust himself to stand. "Yes? But I wouldn't suggest that."

"How often?"

No one of the Atlantis expedition had been fed on in rapid session. Jennifer had forbid it, but John had heard through whispers other Wraith had tried testing the retrovirus to destruction. Ten times. He could survive up to ten times before pushing daisies. Or was it eight?

"Four times at once," John said.

"You have given me much to think about," the Ancient said, still looking at the woman. She was already typing something on her tablet. "I must get my thoughts in order. You and I will speak later, I promise."

John knew when he was getting the runaround. "Listen," he snarled. "A deal's a deal. You gave me your word!"

But Oros was already waving at the Overseers. They surrounded John as one. John tried to fight back, but the roughness of the feeding made him feel he was struggling underwater. Then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and he knew no more.

…

 _TBC_


	3. iii

.

"And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness."  
―Sylvia Plath, _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_

 _._

 _._

.s.

.

 _I take it all back,_ John thought as he groaned into his hands. If all he had to deal with were diminishing border disputes and archeological digs, he would be the happiest man in Pegasus. No more adventures after this, especially alternate realities. Or time travel. Just racing toy cars with Rodney and enjoying the years by Teyla's side from this point on. _If only these Ancients weren't so, so like Ancients,_ he thought.

Is that what Lorric had tried to warn John about? The man gnawed on the half-second memory, trying to glean a new perspective. So far it wasn't looking good: his greatest trump card was spent, Oros still not telling him what he needed to know, and Guide was currently a no-show. John scrubbed his face again and looked about the empty barracks.

"Dammit," he said.

He didn't know how long he waited. He scratched at the itchy feeding mark, his mind circling back to what Lorric _Do you know what you're doing_ had said. It was either that or getting stuck with needles til he was bled dry. Even an idiot could tell Oros was hiding something. _I need to get the hell outta here,_ John thought.

He leapt to his feet as the barrack doors opened. Wraith filed in, some dustier than others. Several seemed haggard, their hair brittle and their skin sickly gray. The man watched as the walls glowed white the moment they crossed the thresholds into their cells. Several eyed John, their gloved hands twitching. The man half expected them to lick drooling lips.

At last the Wraith he was looking for appeared. Guide seemed taller than the others, calmer, skin not so tightly stretched over the cheekbones. John thought he saw one or two gaze after Guide in envy. The Wraith himself entered his cell and pretended to straighten his pallet, but the moment the Ancient Overseers left, he rounded on John.

Guide bared his teeth and snarled. "You are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of my brethren!"

John squinted. "Well, technically they were alternate versions—"

"I have seen your true self. You wanted to eradicate us."

"Then clearly you didn't look deep enough," John snapped.

They glared at each other for several heartbeats.

John broke first, rubbing his mouth. "Okay, yes. I did think that. We didn't really have a choice in the beginning. We walked in on Pegasus and found you were killing and terrorizing people. I'm a soldier: I'm supposed to stop the bad guys. But now things are different. You're people. Then, now, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that."

The Wraith continued to glare for several moments before releasing a low hiss.

John stepped closer to the energy barrier. "The retrovirus ended a war between the Wraith and humans that may've meant the destruction of both our peoples. Maybe that'll do the same here too—if the Ancients here have any decency in them at all, maybe they'll reverse engineer it and give it to the humans of the Pegasus. Then let you guys—"

"Free?" Guide finished dryly.

John winced at the other's dripping skepticism. _Yeah, probably not,_ he thought.

"I saw my counterpart as I fed upon you," the Wraith said, changing the subject. His tone hovered between question and statement. "You regard him in friendship."

John focused on a non-existent spot on his jacket. "Yeah. Well. He can be a stubborn ass sometimes. But he stands my jokes, so that's something."

The Wraith grunted and pulled away. "I have never once encountered friendship between human and Wraith." His eyes narrowed. "Is that why you are willing to go these lengths to free us?"

John shrugged. "You don't leave a man behind," he said, as if it explained everything.

For a long moment all that could be heard was the hum from the energy fields. Then the tattooed Wraith sat down, clawed hands resting on thighs. The tangled hair seemed more disheveled than before.

"I am relieved you are telling the truth, Colonel Sheppard. Our telepathic network and identities are all we have left. The possibility of even that taken away, well . . ." The Wraith blinked slowly. "The alternative would have been too great to bear."

"Yeah, I bet," John said, sitting down as well. "Now can we talk about escape? Layouts? Guard schedules? I don't even know how much time I have left, or how the hell to get home, and this Oros bastard isn't telling me squat."

Guide shifted. "You do not fear the High Councilor?"

"Do you?"

"Not personally," the grizzled Wraith said with an indrawn hiss. "But I fear what he could do to my people."

John nodded. As a soldier and team leader of an expedition, he understood that.

"One of my scientists attempted to escape," the Wraith said. "He killed an Overseer and tried to reach the Stargate. He was caught. I see him every day and there is nothing I can do to relieve his suffering." The glare he shot John could've melted coins. "The same thing will happen to all of us if we attempt this foolishness. We have already tried fighting back. We lost."

"In my reality, you guys won the War. Utterly. Completely beat the Ancients at their own game."

"While we lost ours," Guide growled. He rose abruptly and began to pace his cell.

"Don't be so down. You'll have your chance again at it. Look, I've been noticing the same arrogance and complacency in these guys as I did in our versions. They don't even have surveillance equipment down here! Even better, they don't even have access to your telepathic network." John stood close to the energy wall and locked eyes with the pacing Wraith. "But the day will come when they do. Then you'll lose the one main advantage you have over them. Then what? You'll live out your days until they figure out what keeps you immortal? You think they'll keep you around after that?"

Several Wraith hissed quietly. Guide stopped pacing and stood still, pupils swelling.

"You may've given up, but I haven't," John said.

"You will. They all do."

"I choose not to. My friends—" _are coming for me._ John's mouth twisted, more rictus than smile. He cleared his throat. "My friends are probably trying to find a way to get me as we speak. But in the meantime I need to help them. And help you too, if you want."

Guide glanced away, towards the Wraith in the cage next to him. There was silence for several long minutes as neither Wraith looked at John.

When John began to think he wouldn't get a response, Guide said aloud, "Each of our gloves have a specific code that must be entered to allow us to feed. Despite what you might think, Overseers do not know those codes."

"Really? But earlier I saw that Overseer do something to it."

Guide was already giving an abortive shake of his head. "They request the code from a centralized hub located in the city's centre and enter what is given without ever gaining knowledge of the code themselves. We would have captured one long ago and tortured the information out if they did. We are never allowed in the acropolis, only Ancients have that right. Only there is where one would find the codes."

John sat back, mulling over this newest complexity to the plan. Last time all what it took to remove the contraption over Guide's hand were two solid hits against the wall. He had no idea how to get to his command hub and he—he shook his head. One step at a time. At least he had the ATA gene. He could figure out the rest as he went.

"Then I need to get to this control hub, find the codes, then get back to you and enter it," John said.

The Wraith frowned. "Only an Ancient may use the code to disengage the glove."

John cleared his throat. "Let's just say I can do that too."

When Guide visibly stiffened, the man said, "It's a long story. Let's just assume I can use the codes." _Son of the Ancients._ John kept his face blank.

The Wraith growled softly, but gave a relenting nod. "Then, if he is still alive, I ask you to free the Wraith in the cage."

"Him? Isn't he starving?"

"I took my fill from you, yet here you stand," Guide said, giving him an up-down glance. "You have the protection from the retrovirus."

Having a controlled Wraith feed on him was one thing, but an on-death's-door starving one? John was sure it would be an agony worse than anything he'd yet experienced.

"It would hurt," he said with a grimace.

"As much as me breaking your spine?" Guide snapped.

"What makes you think they won't do to you what they're doing to your friend if you kill me? Keep you locked up, starving?"

The grizzled Wraith couldn't quite hide his wince. The one behind him gave a full-body shudder.

"Why him?" John asked when some silence had passed.

"You do not leave a man behind, Colonel Sheppard," Guide said with something caught between snarl and smile.

.

.s.

.

John was just barely falling asleep when the barrack doors hissed open and his energy cell shut down. Five guards waited for him outside the threshold. Lorric was missing.

"Colonel Sheppard. If you would come with us."

"See? I'm thinking I'm not," John said, swinging upright. "Not until I speak with Oros and get the answers I need."

One of the guards nodded. "It was the High Councilor himself who requested your presence."

The solider in him tensed as warning bells rang. For a long second John wanted to refuse, eying one of the weapons and wondering if he could reach it in time. As if reading his thoughts the guard in question unholstered the phaser and subtly directed it at him.

"If you would please," the Ancient said.

"Oh. Well. Since you said 'please,'" John replied, getting up with a smile.

As they walked John tried to measure the distance of the tunnel. He was pleased with himself as he recognized the landmarks—if he needed to, he would know how to reach the surface. And if Timaeus was anything like Atlantis, he had a pretty good idea where the centralized hub was. _Then again, this is an alternate reality,_ a little voice said. _Locations could be different._ If he could get a glimpse at the layout of the city, even for a moment . . . His attention flicked to the walls as they walked closer to Oros' office. He spotted a single map but it was all the way down an opposite hall, too small to make out.

John was shoved into a windowless room he'd not been in before. It was large and bare, lighted markings snaking up the rusty walls. A single chair crouched in the centre. It appeared so much like Atlantis' Control chair John did a double-take. The last time he sat in the Control chair it was to help fly Atlantis back to the Pegasus Galaxy. To be so intimately connected to something bigger than himself . . . he shoved back the wave of nostalgia and shook his head.

"Sit," said one of the guards.

John tried to gauge what they wanted by their faces, but each were as blank as the walls behind them. Even the Marines back on Atlantis emoted more.

"Aren't you gonna say 'please' again?" John said.

The guard lifted his weapon. "Sit."

John squared his shoulders. "And if I'd rather stand?"

His jaws snapped together as an energy blast enveloped his body, locking every muscle in an agonizing clench. He toppled over, head slamming on the ground. When the cobwebs cleared from his eyes he was in the chair, bands over his wrists and ankles. He gave a tug. The bands tightened like live snakes until he winced. When John regained control over his tongue he growled,

"You know, a normal chair would've worked just fine."

"When dealing with you, Colonel Sheppard, 'normal' does not quite seem to suffice," High Councilor Oros said as he strode into the room. One of the guards quickly produced a sleek chair and a glass of water for the Ancient. Then all the guards retreated to the walls, standing like wooden posts. Oros sat down in front of John. The man grinned when he realized the Ancient was just out of spitting distance. His grin disappeared as the woman scientist appeared with several workers in tow, each carrying or wheeling some form of medical equipment. One of the workers went to him and began unbuttoning his shirt.

John tried to shrink back in the chair. "Hey, what's the big deal?"

The Ancient didn't respond. The warning bells pealed again when the woman took over and began attaching nodes and wires to several areas on his chest, ribs, and neck. Unable to move John pretended he didn't notice what was happening and kept glaring at the High Councilor.

"I'm not answering a goddamn thing until you answer mine," John said when the woman finally retreated.

"I'd advise you do, Colonel Sheppard. Otherwise you will be fed upon." The High Councilor spoke as placidly as man remarking on the weather. He took a sip of water as the door opened and a Wraith shuffled in. The yellow eyes darted to Oros before resting on John, obvious hunger thinning the pupils.

A sick thrill racing up his stomach. "You really want to do this?"

"You're only a human. Albeit an interesting one, but a human nonetheless. If what you say is true, there are more like you in your reality with this retrovirus. We can always take another. Now, what is the current state of the Pegasus Galaxy in your reality? How much do the Wraith there control?"

"I knew a human like you," John said. "He also thought he was pretty clever using Wraith as you do. In fact, for all your superiority talk, you're not much different than him."

Oros pursed his lips. "Is that so."

"Yeah. And like him, you're probably gonna end up with a bullet in the chest."

The High Councilor leaned back and smiled with his white teeth. He nodded at the Wraith. "You may have your fill. But mind the wires."

A guard stepped to the Wraith and took the gloved hand. It was the same process as before: the guard pressed his hand into the black material for several heartbeats, then released. _He must've requested the codes from the centralized hub earlier, or through some internal comm.,_ John thought. He had little time for additional thought as the Wraith strode over and slammed his hand over his bare chest. John let out a strangled shout as the horrible _pulling_ ripped at something deep inside. His soul? Life-force? Whatever it was hurt worse than before than when Guide had fed. He tried to hide his relief when the Wraith's awful hand released. As the man panted to catch his breath he noticed the woman and the other scientists huddling around the machines attached to him.

"Let's begin again," Oros said, drawing John's attention. "Where are the Wraith-controlled territories?"

John's eyes narrowed. "I think I'm starting to understand your obsession with the Wraith immortality. You guys haven't Ascended yet. Otherwise why'd you still be here, on this plane?"

"The location of the Wraith-controlled territories. Please, Colonel Sheppard."

"You guys must be pretty stupid compared to our versions if you haven't even Ascended," John said.

The High Councilor was quiet, expression narrowing. "Bring the next one, please."

A new Wraith was brought. This one took less time than the other reaching for John, the alien face a mask of hunger. This time John's screams filled the room and seemed to hang there long after the Wraith disengaged and was led away. As John tried to shake the pain away he suddenly remembered when he was a kid he touched the stovetop at his parents' house. The ache he carried in his fingers for days afterward seemed to haunt him, except now it was deep within his chest. Burning. He was being burned alive without a fire.

"Don't you want this to end, Colonel Sheppard? Just tell me the state of the Pegasus Galaxy. How many others like you reside there?"

"Pretty funny, isn't it?" John said, panting. "You guys literally have a hard time getting up."

Oros smiled faintly. There was nothing friendly about it. "I would start talking if I were you, Colonel. You're reaching your limit soon."

"I'd say the same of you," John said, not blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping in his eyes. "How the hell do I get home."

A third Wraith was brought in and, like the others, thrust his feeding hand against John and fed long and deeply. John's throat felt raw from his shouts. In Kolya's prison at least he had three hours between feedings. Here he had three minutes. He listed in the chair and forced himself to sit upright.

"If I were you I would start saying anything, even a morsel, to stop the pain," the High Councilor said. He watched the man over steepled fingers.

"How do I get home," John said, spitting bloody saliva aside. _Huh. Must've bit my tongue at some point,_ he thought dully.

"I will tell you if you answer my questions."

"No." He felt he could just float away. He was surprised he wasn't disappearing already. "I've been down that road. You're telling me how to get home first."

Oros blinked slowly. His lips thinned. "Bring the next Wraith," he said.

A fourth Wraith was brought in, gloved hand clenched. With a start John recognized the Wraith as the one he used to call Kenny _—Bonewhite,_ he thought. The Wraith hesitated only for a moment, yellow eyes flicking to his. _Feed on Oros,_ John thought to the Wraith. _Feed on him, feed on him, feed—_

But the Wraith fitted his hand over the bleeding slits where the others fed before and began to _pull_. John could feel the Wraith search his memories as Guide had done, rifling through his emotions as one went through files in a cabinet. John tried to bite back his cries but the pain grew too great, too raw. At one point he could only writhe in mute agony, jaws clenched. When the Wraith at last removed the hand John was embarrassed to find tears in his eyes. The Wraith above him flashed him the same unreadable look as Guide had. It was gone before it could fully form.

"As expected, you weren't telling the whole truth," the High Councilor said as the Wraith was led away. "Despite the fourth feeding, here you are. It seems, Colonel Sheppard, you are just another untrustworthy human."

John laughed. It was little more than a wheeze. "Untrustworthy? You should look in the mirror. You still haven't even told me how to get home."

A muscle in the High Councilor's jaw jumped before the smooth mask of calm resumed. He took a long sip of water before setting the glass down again and saying, "The truth is, there is no way home for you."

It was like a Wraith was feeding on him again, the coldness seeping deep in his bones. John forced himself to maintain eye contact with the Ancient.

Oros leaned forward. "To put it plainly, the window between realities have already shifted. It fluctuates each time, and since it has been so long since we've traveled to your reality, we didn't have the necessary calculations available to mark the new window parameters. We won't be able to cross again for several of your decades. You have my apologies."

"And when were you planning on telling me that?" John barely heard himself say. His heartbeat was very loud in his ears.

"In truth, never. I believe hope is a better drink to swallow than bitter truth. I can make your life comfortable here if you answer my questions. I understand the Ancient-Wraith War has ended for you, but how? How did the Wraith win the War in your reality?"

Enough of John remained for him to say, "I'm done answering your questions." _Teyla,_ a dim part of him thought. He closed his eyes.

"Then you will continue to aid our efforts in other ways," the High Councilor said, almost gently.

Another Wraith was brought in, then another. John almost didn't feel them. He could feel himself sinking. The feeling in his hands and feet were gone. The chair was gone. He was gone. At one point he thought there was a hand on his chest. Or was it on his forehead?

"Sir, his vitals are fluctuating rapidly," a beautiful voice said. It sounded miles away. "By my approximations he will be dead in two more feedings, possibly three. Do you wish you continue?"

There was a distant reply, but John was already floating into a sea of gray and knew no more.

…

 _TBC_


	4. iv

**A.N:** And lo, the final chapter. Thank you all for reading, and until next time!

.

"We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,  
Me and you."

―Sylvia Plath, _Lesbos_

.

.

.s.

.

John returned to consciousness like a bubble rising to a pond's surface. The ozone stink of the energy fields filled his nose and he realized where he was. The hard pallet dug into his hips and shoulders. The gray ceiling stared at him. John blinked slowly back.

"You're still alive."

John turned his head. Guide stood close to the barrier, watching him. There was no discernible emotion in the alien face. The starburst tattoo was stark against the gray skin.

John's voice was a gruff croak. "Yeah."

"How many times?"

John closed his eyes and willed himself into the floor. "Can't remember." He turned his head and speared the Wraith behind Guide with a dark glower. Before the other Wraith could open his mouth Guide stepped between them. He lifted his chin.

"Do you blame them? Our rationing keeps us hungry, some to the point of near starvation. To have the chance to take our fill is an opportunity no sane Wraith will pass up."

 _Do you blame the Wraith? Or the master?_

"Have you thought of how to reach the centralized hub?" Guide asked.

John had looked at a spot on the floor, feeling for all the world he'd lost some part of himself back in Oros' interrogation. He could tell something was wrong. Though there was no wound on his body, he felt he was bleeding out somewhere, that there was less of him than before and there continued to be less by the minute.

 _The truth is, there is no way home for you._

"Not yet," John finally said, turning away to look back at the ceiling.

He lost track of time as he faded in and out of consciousness. He could hear Guide pacing, the rhythmic whisper of cloth faint against the hum of the energy fields. One point he heard a long shuffle of many bodies moving, but he didn't care enough to open his eyes. When he finally woke he found the barracks empty, every cell but his shut down. John sat up slowly, grimacing at how his entire body felt it had just gone ten rounds with a pissed off Ronon. He glanced down at his hands. Despite their unblemished skin they felt withered, just as they had in Kolya's prison before Guide returned his youth. He made a fist. It felt insubstantial. He let it go. The strength didn't matter.

The barrack doors hissed open. John was still staring at the unmade fist when someone stood outside his cell.

"The High Councilor lied."

John looked up. It was Lorric. There was a bowl of green paste in his hand.

"I heard what he said to you yesterday. You may still go home, Colonel Sheppard, but that window of opportunity is closing."

"Is this a joke?" John said. His tone was even. "Because if it is, I'm going to kill you."

"Someone who thinks they have nothing to lose is a dangerous opponent," the Ancient said, nodding. "I assure you, what I say is the truth."

 _This could be a trap,_ a small voice said. John forced himself to stand. He walked over to the energy wall until he and Lorric were several inches apart. "Why? Why now? Why not tell me this earlier?"

"I had tried to warn you—"

"Gee, you mean that vague question?" John wanted to shout. "Yeah, your warning was incredibly clear."

"There was no clean opportunity to speak to you as I do now, Colonel. And I had no idea the magnitude of the retrovirus you were about to show the High Councilor and our Chief Scientist," the Overseer said. "You have given him a very precious gift, one that may help him discover immortality, or more. He will squeeze what he can from you before turning his sights on your reality. I can make sure that doesn't happen."

"Why are you suddenly telling me all this?"

"I learned what Chief Scientist Aaila is planning to do to you," Lorric said, looking away. "There would be nothing left of you in the end but what could fit on a microscope slide."

"That bad, huh?" John said.

"There's another reason. The truth is, it's been a long time since I have seen compassion, Colonel Sheppard. I had thought I would've lived the rest of my life without witnessing it again."

John found himself on the back foot. He blinked. "What?"

"I saw it on your face when you saw the Wraith in the cage. You referred to the Wraith as 'he' when all others say 'it.'"

John shifted. He was glad Guide wasn't there. "So?"

"That may seem like a small thing to you, Colonel, but it reminded me of something I thought we Ancients have lost."

John said nothing. He had killed hundreds of Wraith in his time, and though he now recognized them as people, he wasn't above shooting them again if they threatened Atlantis or the peace of the Pegasus Galaxy.

Lorric stepped closer and said in a lowered voice, "Every twenty-six years there is a massive solar phenomenon that sends enough disruptive energy to alter the path of our Gate and allow us a window into yours."

"Every twenty-six years?" John closed his eyes tightly. He couldn't imagine twenty-six more minutes of this, let alone twenty-six more years. An image of Teyla flashed before he could stop himself, a life and an Atlantis forever out of reach.

"Yes. The burst allows enough power for this window to remain open for approximately one hundred and fifty hours. We cannot alter our destination, and attempting the increase the size of the window would have taken far more power than probable. Over the ages we have explored your alternate version, but as we only saw destruction, we realized there was nothing to gain. Now Gate travel was prohibited during the corona."

John nodded slowly. "We saw that happen on our end too. There was a flash of light and the sky around the sun became orange." He blinked as something fell into place. "That's how you knew I wasn't from the future. I came through the Stargate as it was happening."

"Yes. That's why we were so surprised to see you. But Colonel, you're running out of time. If every cycle is forty-two of your minutes, you've already been here for one hundred and thirty-two cycles."

A chill seeped into John's heart as he did the math. _Only twelve and a half hours left to get home._

"Oros will stall to keep you here. And if you remain trapped, believe me when I say you will not survive long enough to see the next window. You will be studied until the next twenty-sixth year, in which case the High Councilor will plan an expedition to your side."

John stared at some spot on the floor as he absorbed the situation. "Does this affect any other Stargates on your side?"

"No. This is the only planet in the star system this close to the sun. And no matter which address we dial, we always travel to our alternate version. You may rest easy, Colonel Sheppard: it's a closed loop."

John hid a shudder. The answer was clear. "We'll destroy the Gate on our end. Throw it right in the sun."

Lorric nodded. "Yes. That would be best." He disengaged the cell and gave the bowl of green paste to John. The man took it with a faint grimace.

"I must leave now, but I will return in a few cycles to escort you to the Gate," Lorric said.

"You have to help them, too," John said, gesturing to the empty cages around them.

The Overseer went still.

"You know where all the codes are to disengage their gloves, right?"

Without the haze of the energy field John could see surprise clearly in the Ancient's eyes. "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

"Why help me at all if you won't help them?"

"Helping one lone human is one thing, but freeing the Wraith? And if we accomplish what you're suggesting, what then? They escape to feast upon all the humans of the Galaxy? You trade one species' imprisonment with the other's."

"Not if you take the retrovirus in my blood and give it to everyone," John said. "I'm sure that woman has all the samples needed to reconstruct what we created on our side. No one has to die. Well," he amended, "a few Ancients might in the process."

Lorric was quiet, pockmarked face a mask.

"In our reality humans and Wraith came together to end a war that would've destroyed all civilizations," John pressed. "Yeah, it took lots of death on both side before we learned to work together without backstabbing." _If we are ever to work together, we cannot be half-allies,_ Teyla had said at the tipping point. "Maybe releasing the Wraith might cause problems now, but shouldn't the possibility of peace outweigh that?"

"There is much bad blood between Ancient and Wraith." The Overseer drew out each word like someone pulling wires from a bomb. Or bones from a coffin. "I doubt there could be any peace."

"All it starts is with common ground," John said. "Maybe freeing them will break the cycle of violence. It's your choice, Lorric. You said it yourself you thought you'd lost something: maybe it's time to change that."

Lorric didn't look at John as he stepped out of the cell and reengaged the energy field. The stink of ozone filled the air. "What you suggest will take time. It may take more than you have."

"Let's plan on making it work."

As the Overseer left John wondered if he'd gone too far. Asking the Ancient to betray his people all because of the unjust treatment of the Wraith? For a second the idea of killing Lorric to get the codes crossed his mind. Then he shook his head. No. Nothing would be accomplished that way. And if the Wraith saw it was an Ancient helping them, then maybe . . .? John scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. Even if this half-boiled plan worked, there was no way of knowing how the rest of the story would play out.

John collapsed on the edge of his pallet, only now noticed how his legs shook. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and touched his chest gingerly, keeping clear of the wound edges where the numerous Wraith had fed. They weren't healing. He looked away and re-buttoned his shirt. He hoped the shakes would wear off soon: the internal hurt throbbed like ice left on skin too long, a cold burn he couldn't shake off.

.

.s.

.

It was hard to count the passage of time without dissolving into worry. The man tried not to notice time slipping from his fingers and tried to go over the steps of the plan in his head. Not that it helped. As far as plans go, he'd seen swiss cheese with less holes in it. When Guide and the rest of the Wraith returned John forced himself to remain sitting. He eyed the Overseers. None of them were Lorric. Guide could barely wait for the guards to leave before turning to him.

"Well, Colonel Sheppard?"

John took a breath. "I may have a plan. But I've a feeling you're not going to like it."

When John told him about Lorric, the Wraith's eyes went wide, the pupils thinning to hairline slits. "You told an Overseer?" He staggered upright. "You fool! Death would be welcome after the tortures they would inflict!"

"Personally I like to go with what I know until something better shows up. Right now? This is all we got. I don't have much further to live if I don't get out of here, and neither do you."

"I do not anymore, thanks to your betrayal," the Wraith hissed. "You've killed us all."

"Don't be so negative," John said, fighting his own nerves. He checked his watch and guessed he had about six hours left to get home, maybe less.

"This entire plan hinges on the goodwill of a single Ancient? You are mad," Guide snarled. He was pacing again with short, angry jerks. A Wraith somewhere growled.

"I know what this looks like, but—"

The barrack doors hissed open. John released the breath he hadn't known he was holding. It was Lorric.

A fine sheen of sweat covered the Overseer's forehead as he appeared before John's cell. "We must go. Now."

"What about the Wraith?" John asked.

Lorric's eyes flicked towards Guide. "I've uploaded a code in the centralized hub that's set to overload the locking mechanism of the gloves. Once they are released . . . this will set another conflict in motion. But eventually a day comes when you have to answer what you've done," he said, now turning to address John. "Many of us disagree with High Councilor Oros' tactics. We agree the retrovirus taken from your blood should be administered to everyone. Perhaps . . . perhaps without the threat of constant death, that could allow the Wraith to govern themselves in a free state away from all this. Perhaps the retrovirus will be the key in this reality as it is in yours, Colonel Sheppard."

Guide's expression had become sphinx-like again, emoting nothing.

"What's your choice, Todd?" John said when the silence stretched.

"This could still very well be a trap," the Wraith said. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the Overseer.

"When I remove that glove, I'll prove to you it isn't," the Ancient said, voice like gravel.

The Wraith's eyes narrowed. John wanted to believe he knew Guide enough to read him, but as the Wraith regarded the Ancient, the man realized he'd have more luck reading a stone. At last Guide said, "Very well. I will go, but only with the understanding I will return again to free my people, including the Wraith you are starving outside."

Lorric nodded, like one soldier to another. Seconds later the field of John's cell shut off. The man stepped through, wincing as one of his chest wounds caught against his inner shirt. He turned and found the Wraith deep in telepathic communication with his second in command. Both stood very close to each other. Outside of a soft growl or low hiss, neither projected any readable emotion, standing as marble statues.

Lorric stepped close to John. "You take a risk. You have only about five cycles left before the window closes."

John shook his head. "Can't leave a man behind."

The Overseer studied him, but didn't respond. He then moved away and lifted his hand over the sensor to drop the fields to Guide's cell. It hovered there for a moment, fingers curling. Both Wraith turned to watch, their yellow eyes shadowed. Then the hand swiped and the cell went dark. Guide stepped into the open. He loomed over Lorric by a solid foot, teeth bared that could've been a smile or grimace.

The Overseer didn't blink. "Your hand."

After a hesitation, the Wraith gave it. The Ancient took it and pressed his fingers into the black material. After a second, he stepped back. "It's deactivated. You may take it off whenever you like. However, I suggest you keep it on until we've reached the outskirts of the City in case we're spotted."

Guide clenched a fist and said nothing.

"Let's go," Lorric said. "We must hurry—if we time it right, I may create a diversion at the change of guards so you two may slip away."

"Do we get weapons?" John asked.

The Overseer shook his head. "We'll have to pray we aren't spotted."

The three of them left the prison barracks and hurried down the empty corridor. It felt there was a hole in John's lungs. _Not good,_ he thought, trying to hide his breathing from the others. He was glad they stopped just outside the tunnel. His heart knocked against his ribs.

"Follow me," Lorric said. "And keep to the shadows."

 _Like sneaking through Atlantis,_ John thought. _Nothing to it._ Sweat bead his forehead and stung his eyes. Whenever Lorric hissed he dropped down and waited the few heartbeats before moving again, the Wraith shadowing his every move. Darkness filled the hallways, the lights dimmed in nighttime mode. Lorric eventually led them through corridors John didn't recognize, every so often passing a stainglass window. The night sky shone through them, dark and warped.

They slipped into a hanger bay. Puddle Jumpers rested in perfect intervals along the walls, reminding John of cows in a stable. Dim lights lit their way as they crept in the shadows of the ships. They were nearly at the other end when Lorric stopped them. Two sentries guarded the passage out, their expressions a mixture of boredom and profession disinterest.

Lorric nodded at John. "I'll distract the guards. When they're gone, activate the door and don't stop until you reach the main road. I will meet you after."

Then the Ancient stood up and walked into plain view, calling to the two sentries. The two perked up, one of them hailing Lorric almost cheerfully. When they became in conversational distance they seemed to discuss a matter before all three of them pulled away.

John nodded at Guide. "C'mon. It's now or never."

The two of them sneaked towards the door. Despite his large height and poor clothes, the Wraith was nearly soundless besides John. When the reached the doors John noticed the same type of activating panel in Atlantis' own hanger bay. He swiped his hand over it. A moment later the doors hissed into life, unfolding back. Cool wind met his cheek, smelling of slightly metallic rain. He closed his eyes. _Out!_

When he reopened them he thought he caught the Wraith regarding him carefully. John pretended not to notice and motioned Guide to follow him. Together they left the metal walkway John had walked to enter the city days ago and huddled in a shadowed nook. John tried to focus on the escape and not on how his legs felt they belonged to an eighty year old. He rubbed a cramp out of one, wincing.

Neither spoke as they waited for Lorric, the space between them filled with an inward silence that seemed wrong to break. Then Lorric dropped down next to John, belaying a rough grace the man hadn't expected from an Ancient of later years.

"We'll move at the shift change," the Overseer said. "I have allies who will look the other way as we pass." At John and Guide's shifting, Lorric added, "I'm not the only one to believe the way I do. Just the first to act upon it."

After several moments Lorric tapped John's shoulder and they hurried toward the city's edge, towards the dark fields away from the city's glow. As metal walkway began to turn into road John saw the cage. The city lights marked the Wraith curled inside.

"Get him out," Guide said, voice velveted steel. There was no mistaking the menace. "Now."

Lorric went to a panel on the side of the translucent cage. "Colonel Sheppard," he softly called. When John went to his side the Ancient said, "You'll need to open it. If I did, they'll recognize my signature and know."

"Just like that? Aren't there extra security measures in place?" John asked.

The Ancient half-smiled. There was no humor there as he said, "No Wraith have tried before. And even if they had attempted to force an Overseer to open a door, the fear of us detonating the gloves keep them in check."

"Aren't they going to trace all the deactivations to you, though?"

The pockmarked Ancient smile became genuine, but there was something sad about it. "I have my allies in this, others who disagree with the High Councilor. I have someone manning the hub. She's providing the codes."

John swiped his hand over the panel. The door hissed open. He covered his nose and stepped back as a sour wave of old sweat and starvation washed over him. Guide roughly shoved him aside and reached inside. As John watched the tall Wraith helped the prisoner out, he wondered if it would be more humane to shoot the damn thing and put him out of his misery.

"You must help him. He still lives," Guide said after a moment. "You gave me your word, Sheppard."

John coughed. "I don't ever remember going that far."

Guide rounded on him, expression thunderous.

Lorric went to John's side. "We're running out of time," he said. "If we do this, we do this now."

The man grimaced. "Fine. Okay."

"Hold him. I'm going to deactivate his glove," Lorric said to Guide. The nearly dead Wraith didn't move as Lorric pressed fingers into the matte material, nor when Guide removed the glove entirely. Guide pressed his feeding hand against the other Wraith's chest.

"He is too weak to feed. We must do this another way," Guide said.

Before John could respond Guide flashed to his side and ripped some of his shirt aside. John tried to block the attack but the Wraith was too quick. _Or I'm too slow,_ was the last coherent thought John had before Guide slammed the feeding hand against him.

It was like getting hit by a truck, except the truck was on fire, and he was on fire already. A hand clapped over his mouth, stifling his shouts. His vision exploded. When his sight returned he was on his back, staring up at the dark filament. For a single moment John thought of Holland, slowly bleeding out in his lap under an unfamiliar Afghanistan sky. He could still remember the metallic smell of his friend's blood. The smell filled his nose now.

Then Lorric hovered over him, jarring him from the memory.

"We thought we lost you for a moment," the Ancient said as he helped John in a sitting position. A wave of dizziness rushed over John not unlike nausea.

When he swallowed down the urge to vomit John said, "Yeah, me too." Then the fog in his eyes cleared and he realized what he thought were a low cluster of stars were actually the city lights flickering in the distance. Grasses swayed all around him. He looked behind him and saw the Stargate as a silhouette against the deep blue of the night sky. He almost didn't believe it.

"He carried you all the way to the Gate," Lorric said, glancing towards Guide standing nearby.

"Apologies, Colonel Sheppard," the Wraith said with a shallow bow. Enough of his tone was contrite. "I had to feed on you. A moment later and my scientist would have been dead."

John glanced at the Wraith he supposedly saved, watching as the ex-prisoner standing on unsteady legs.

"Well, give a man some warning next time," John said.

The Ancient's hand were firm as he helped John to his feet. He staggered for a moment, feeling the world tilt beneath his boots. John looked down at his chest and was surprised to find unblemished skin. Even more surprising was how well he felt.

"I returned what I could spare back to you," the Wraith said when the man turned to him. "I can see why my counterpart respects you. Even if we should all perish in this endeavor," he said, stepping close, "I thank you. I am in your debt."

John cleared his throat. "Thank Lorric, not me. He's the one who got us out."

Wraith and Ancient regarded each other carefully. As John watched, he couldn't help but wonder if he was looking at his past. How improbable it was back then, a partnership between human and Wraith. Who knew that fateful meeting would become the shape of things to come between the Wraith factions and Atlantis, of the whole Pegasus galaxy?

"You guys are gonna have to play nice while I'm gone," John said. "Once your scientist figures how to reverse engineer the retrovirus, disseminate it. It won't bring you immortality, but it may help save lots of people."

"The first thing is to rescue the Queens still locked in the bowels of the City," the Wraith said. He smiled with his teeth at Lorric. "We know you haven't killed them all."

"We will discuss," the Overseer said gravely. "But first, this is where we part ways, Colonel Sheppard. Once you've reached your timeline I suggest waiting a cycle before dialing other coordinates."

"What's going to happen to you?" John asked.

The Overseer's smile was fleeting. "My life was forfeit the moment I decided to help you. And yet, I feel more alive than I have in years. How can you explain that?"

John shifted, thinking of when he'd stolen a helicopter to go after Holland. He never regretted breaking those orders, even as his desertion darkened his record. He could respect the Overseer for doing what he felt was right, even at the cost of everything he knew.

"I may know a thing or two about that," John said.

Lorric smiled. "The Wraith is right. Even if we die tomorrow, a change was needed." He then went over and dialed the Stargate. Glowing blue light washed over them.

John didn't stop to look back as he walked through the rippling horizon, closing his eyes at the last second. When he stepped through the other side he didn't dare open them, for a horrible, horrible second thinking he would find he hadn't gone anywhere, that it was just one big universal prank. But dust and sand stung his nose. He opened his eyes and found the desolation from before. A dry wind made sand hiss about his legs.

The city was dead.

John resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

He took no chances. Despite his eagerness to go home he made himself comfortable by the Stargate steps. He set his watch for an hour and a half and waited in the dark, listening to the sounds the desert. It struck him he would never find out what would happen to the alternative Pegasus. A part of him wondered, but a greater part couldn't wait to throw the Stargate directly into the sun. He still wished he could've seen the look on Oros' face once he realized John had escaped. He hoped that Guide would feed on him.

The sky was beginning to lighten when John plugged in his IDC. He smiled as he received the confirmation ping from Atlantis' side, already deciding to tell Beckett he wasn't going to spend another minute in the med bay. No sir. If someone needed him, he'd be in his quarters, having much needed rest time with the woman and boy he loved.

 _I'm coming home, Teyla,_ he thought, then walked through the Stargate.

.

.

.

 _-fin-_


End file.
